


𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐐𝐔𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒

by morbidlypicturesque



Series: Damned By Default [3]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Jewish Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gang Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partners to Lovers, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Russian Empire, Slow Build, Strong Female Characters, Women In Power, Русский | Russian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbidlypicturesque/pseuds/morbidlypicturesque
Summary: ❝ I suggest you busy yourself with estimating the value of my family jewels if you wish not to be parted from yours. ❞━━━ in which she is a russian duchess ready to conquer london, and he is a cunning businessman reluctant to fly into her trap.alfie solomons x ocpre season2 -
Relationships: Alfie Solomons/Original Female Character(s), Grace Burgess/Tommy Shelby
Series: Damned By Default [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759483
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐐𝐔𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒

  
  
  
  
  
𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐪𝐮𝐞. _french_  
a pearl of irregular shape   
  
  


Her hand reached for the spot   
where a string of **pearls** laid   
not so long ago, when the air   
was clearer and the **ache** of  
the world she lost had yet to   
**fall** on her fragile shoulders. 

"I had **gold** , I had diamonds of  
every kind, once. They never **sang** me   
to sleep, never **kissed** me goodnight,  
never tended to my scrapped knees  
and ripped stockings," her **smile** turned  
mournful, letting her eyes flicker out  
of the window and onto the grounds  
in front of the **house** where muddied  
children chased each other by the **river.**

"The only stone that will **kiss** you  
to **sleep** is the one that will  
cover your **grave**."  
  
  


— **Irina Ivanovna, 1922.**  
  
  
  
  
  


**CAST** **|** ❝ _history has its eyes on us_ ❞  
  
  
  
  
  


_natalie dormer as_   
**IRINA IVANOVNA**

**THE PENNILESS DUCHESS**

  
_tom hardy as_   
**ALFIE SOLOMONS**

  


**THE UNFORGIVING GANGSTER**


	2. i.i. a russian in London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part i. the acquaintance
> 
> 1919!
> 
> OR IN WHICH A FORMER DUCHESS WITH NOT  
> A PENNY TO HER NAME TRACKS DOWN A  
> MAN WILLING TO BUY HER HEIRLOOM  
> TO SURVIVE

  
**ONE |** a russian in london  
  
  
  
  
  


...   
  
  
  
  
  
  


**IF IRINA BELIEVED IN GOD** she would've thanked him for the picturesque childhood she had enjoyed once — the careless innocence of youth that draws a veil around one's eyes, whispers sweet reassurances before it rips it off, leaving one to shiver on the freezing slopes of reality.

Alas, the only being she could truly thank was her father and the sheer stroke of luck that allowed her family to preserve their lives in the face of the sweeping storm that decimated the blue-blooded population of the Russian Empire, slowly but surely leaving them without cousins, friends and connections.

Strings of the revolution were tightly pent up, eager for them to meet their target in the backs of the aristocracy and so, in the year 1913 the _Ivanovna_ family abandoned their grand estate in _Petrograd_ and fled over the sea, into the unknown waters of western Europe.

With no time to collect their belongings so as not to arouse any suspicion, she could faintly remember her mother and the maids stuffing the jewels from the family vault into their corsets and coat pockets and the many uncomfortable layers of petticoats and shirts she was dressed into. Wooden cases engraved with hunting scenes and animals, and boxes they usually brought for travel were not an option.

One of her sisters had already found her match in a Georgian Lord and the other wrote seldomly from Yekaterinburg, where she lived with her husband and a flock of children Irina never had the opportunity to meet.

It was easy to forget the youngest sister, the quietest of the three and the one that spent her summers with her nose in a book, preferably under the canopy in the gardens, or one of the ancient trees that threw shade over the estates windows.

With each passing year fewer and fewer correspondence trickled in, and by the end of the 1917 they did not know if she was even alive. It was a dreadful thing to think of, and yet when Irina and her mother heard about the ghastly end of their emperor, they were sure that night ended the life of Alexandra Ivanovna.

Prussian porcelain cups left haphazardly on the doily clothed tables, beds unmade and closets wide open and gaping — that's what they left behind when the servants roused them before the morning sun peered through the windows and smuggled them in trading carts to the nearest port.

All of them dressed as peasants, even her father who always looked so dignified and regal with his neatly trimmed beard and curling moustache. When they unloaded from the carts in the port he pressed a long kiss to her brow, a gesture usually reserved only for birthdays and holy days. The maids rushed her into the ship quick after, but over her shoulder she could see mother clinging onto him, shoulders shaking with sobs.

Ivan promissed them he would be on the next ship after them, that all he had to do was tie some loose ends before they could truly make a new life in England. Irina never saw her father again.

When she was younger she didn't ask what happened with the house she called _dom_ , and now she didn't want to know. The illusion she kept in her mind, of the grand white staircase the three sisters rushed down when they saw papa's carriage enter the estate grounds, and the lush greenery of the gardens where they entertained their guests.

Their British relations, cousins of cousins — though she hardly cared, all they did was look down on them with patronising smirks and venomous little jabs — provided a three storey victorian house for the two of them and several of their closest servants in the heart of England's capital. 

Six years had passed since the fateful escape, their household dwindling in numbers until only four of them remained to warm their London estate, a chauffeur that turned into a butler when they sold their car and a maid, Leonida, who tended to Irina's mother, served as a cook and a laundry maid at the same time.

Any more luxurious meals than _kasha_ and stews were reserved for holy days and occasional guests. Bit by bit, jewel by jewel, Irina watched as her inheritance trickled into the hands of the foreigners — or were they perhaps the foreigners? — all in hopes of surviving one more year in the unknown land. Of what use was an empty title sawn to her name if she had no estates, no income of her own?

On some days the melancholy settled deep inside her chest, unmovable, _a Siberian frost_ , mother would say when she caught her staring out off the window and at the grey and wet pavement of the street.

What was there in the world for a poor Duchess and her mother, far away from their homeland?  
  
  
  


* * *

**ONE THING THAT IRINA** particularly dreaded were occasional afternoon visits from some relation or another, a flock of friends that expected to be served and doted upon with all the regalia and splendour they were used to.

Duchess Natalya Vasilyevna Stroganovna sat in the armchair opposite of Irina, sipping tea from the finest Prussian china they owned with one of her signature simpering smiles and a fresh gossip just waiting to be spilled. Her family was one of the first to escape the brewing storm, back at the beginning of the century, allowing the young lady to position herself well in the societal circles of the elite.

"There's a word going around about some relatives of our late Tsar settling in The Ritz a few days ago," the young woman babbled, reaching for one of the blinis on the étagère and practically inhaling it between two breaths. Irina watched as the salmon disappeared eagerly between her dark lips, impressively fast for such a lean little thing as Natalya was.

"We have certainly seen enough of such impostors, traipsing around just because they appear to hold the Romanov name," Irina replied, unconvinced. "How could we possibly know whether they are who they deem to be?"

"Apparently, a delegation has been formed to– " she started eagerly, only to be cut off in the middle of the sentence. Her lips parted in surprise, and Irina reluctantly followed her line of vision. 

Dimitrya Ivanovna was a shadow of the Grand Duchess she once was — her hair had gone white from all the loss she endured in less than a decade, her hands shook and her bones were frail. That was the woman that was a lady in waiting to the Empress once, a prominent face in the court, now weatherd by age and death that seemingly followed their step.

Now she stood at the doorway to the sitting room, wide eyes blinking, in her embroidered dressing gown and white hair piled up in curls on her head.

"Irina?"

Irina bolted out of her armchair, quick to take her mother's arm and push her back to the corridor that led to the staircase. " _Mamushka_ , be careful," she chastised her poor mother as if she was a child. The dementia, that was what the London doctors called Dimitrya's irreversible condition, made her entirely dependant on the staff and Irina. "Where is Leonida? Leonida!"

The aged lady tried to shake her daughter's firm grip, feeling guilt rise up at the thought of worrying her again. "Don't bother her, she went to, ah– I – don't..." A chocked sound escaped her; she did not even know why she came down the stairs.

They nearly stumbled over a chair in the hallway. "I'll take you upstairs, one step at the time. Leonida!"

The maid appeared, finally, from the direction of the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows and face red in both shame and overwork. "My deepest apologies, duchess," the young woman ducked her head in shame, allowing Irina to pass her mother into her hands.

"See that it doesn't happen again," Irina said firmly. She would never treat Leonida so gruffly if it was just them in the house, but one must at all cost save their reputation, especially when they have a venomous snake curled on their armchair.

With cheeks flaring from the embarrasing scene, Irina returned back to her guest. "My apologies, dear friend," she said, closing the door that separated the sitting room from the rest of the house.

Natalya responded with a simpering smile that did not reach her blue eyes. "I understand completely darling, It's so nice that you take care of her that much. Most ladies of our station just call up maids," the blonde poked, not in the least subtly. She'd be a fool not to realise their staff number dwindled in the last year, that evening receptions and dinner parties became a rarity that seemingly disappeared into myth and legend.

"I just love her far too much, you surely understand, she is the only parent I have left and I must dote on her tremendously, just as she did to me when I wad little." It was a sugar coated lie, at best. She was her parents very rarely at the time, her only company being the maids and other noble children hauled along for the parties and celebrations.

"I would certainly go mad without my dearest papa. Such a caring man, the rock of our family. No, I am most certain I could not live without him." _Or without his monthly allowance_ , the other woman thought darkly.

Eager to turn the conversation, Irina spotted a new addition to the other woman's ensemble. "New broch? Allow me to say how it looks positively regal on you, dear friend." It proudly sported a grand jewel encircled by pearls and thin strips of silver curling in an intricate design.

"My darling Fedor gave me this as a promise that he would speak to papa about the idea of our union. Can you imagine!" Natalya squeeled in delight at the mention of her soon-to-be fiancé. "Imagine, my dear, he is a _Duke_ , the nephew of our dear, late Tsar. I feel like fortune is finally smiling upon me, don't you think so? This broch is from his mother, but he had my name engraved on the silver underside, so it's all mine now."

"I was just about to ask you what jewellers you are familiar with in the area."

The blonde sat up straighter, laying her cup back on the patterned saucer. "Oh, are you buying? For yourself or someone else?" The questions continued in rapid succession before Irina waved her hand in dismissal.

"Some polishing, minor reshaping. I've been thinking of making a necklace out of the Siberian Sapphire, but I want only the best jeweller to handle it. It's one of my families most prized possessions, you must know it was given to my great-great-great grandfather by Empress Ekaterina," Irina shot her a small smirk, noting how Natalya's smile soured a little at the mention of such a heirloom.

Little changed in the way nobility compared each other, and most advantage still had the ones that could boast famous jewels in their private collections.

The blonde duchess huffed slightly before she made a thinking face. "Well, I have heard of a man, known as very experienced with jewels, but I would not dare to associate with himself," Natalya shook her head, placing her cup back on the saucer.

"I hear he's gangster. A Jewish gangster, from the slums of the northern parts of the city, Camden specifically. As a possible future Grand Duchess, I shan't sully my reputation, even if they say he can offer the best on the market."

Feigning innocent curiosity Irina asked. "What is his name?"

"They call him Alfie Solomons," a visible shudder passed through the Duchess' body when she uttered the name of the elusive man, pinched features contorting into expression of unhidden disgust.

"Alfie Solomons..." She tested his name on her tongue slowly, the cogs in her head twisting and turning.

Irina hid her face behind the dainty porcelain of the teacup, giving the information a moment before she turned the conversation onto the upcoming Ascot, not allowing a single crack in the polished facade she carried, both out of pride and necessity.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, hello and welcome if  
> you come from my other works or  
> you just stumbled upon this on accident  
> i can't assure you this will be updated very  
> often due to uni work but! i quite like  
> this story and will make sure to do  
> my very best

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I wasn't originally intending to post this story, since I didn't develop it very deeply but since Wattpad started to erase all mature content off their site,  
> I've been forced to transfer all my works to ao3 in order to preserve them. Still, I hope you enjoy it, and make sure to comment your thoughts!


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